


Domesticated Animals

by fictionalrobin



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Based on Myself, Depressed Magnus Bane, Depression, Hurt Magnus Bane, M/M, Magnus Bane-centric, Scratching, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 00:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17949887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalrobin/pseuds/fictionalrobin
Summary: It was fineMagnus was fine





	Domesticated Animals

It really wasn’t that big of a deal.

It didn’t come sneaking. It didn’t catch him off guard. It wasn’t some big dramatic moment like in the movies. There was no sad music. No tears. Really not even a reason. 

I t was  just  a sudden urge.  More of a memory . Not even an impulse.  Just s hear boredom and a need to feel relieved. Of what he did not know. He wasn’t thinking of anything when it happened. Not of his mother  or his father,  or his magic, or his duties , or Lorenzo in his mansion with his title or  Madzie  or Clary or even Camille . Not anything. Anything at all. And maybe it was just that. The pure nothing of nothingness.  So  nothing that it  wasn’t  even empty. It  wa sn’t anything. In the same way that the water running down your window is so deeply nothing more than H 2 O that you give meaning to, and that love is nothing but a chemical reaction in your brain that you have given a name. 

Chemicals. 

It was all just about chemicals. The craving for dopamine but the lazy self-indulgence of  uncreativity  to get it somewhere else. He'd read all the articles. All the blog posts and  seen all the  instagram  screenshots and websites of endless ways to supplement this urge. But he didn’t want any of that. He didn’t want to draw  flowers  on his thighs or squeeze a lump of ice. He didn’t want to  scream  or talk to someone or  meditate or write down his feelings . He just wanted pain. As cliché as that made him sound. 

_ God damn. He'd forgotten how good this felt. _

His nails are longer now than the first time he did this.  The first time, so long ago.  He'd never been much of a cutter or burner or whatever new way of self-inflicted pain mainstream media favored  to portray at that point .  He'd tried, but they never felt right. The process was too violent and left a mess, compared to the pay-off. He'd assumed he wasn’t much of a self-harmer at all. Even if he was depressed.  Really, he’d discovered this method by accident, one day when he was lost in thought , and his hands were looking for stim . 

It worked best on the inside of the wrist. But  then  people asked too many questions and he got carried away so easily. The ankle and the inside of  his  knees w ere  a good location too, but hard to reach without feeling ridiculous. So, his hips  and thighs  were the primary target. The skin was sensitive and thin yet healed a lot faster than his wrists.  And he didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing it. It wasn’t so easy for pants to ride up that far, and Alec was too busy to initiate intimacy at that time. 

He found a spot and began his task.  His other hand, he used to steady his thigh and stretch the skin out for easier access.  It would take a while for it to kick in,  bu t  t hat came with this method. But he quite liked to slow buildup. The skin going numb under his fingernail.  Epidermis beading up under his fingernails.  Then, nothing. The burning suspense of wondering if he’d gone too far or not far enough. 

_ But finally. _

It came strong. A seething burn, as lymph fluid rose to the top and the skin started to glow. 

_ Fuck  _

He took a deep breath. Deep. Deeper than before. Deeper than ever before. All the way into the mattress and through the floor, into the pipping system and all the way down to the  cold  earth, with roots and dirt and forgotten pieces of garbage. When he exhaled he  started to  float .

He swallowed. The bed moved in slow-motion beneath him. 

_ If only he could stay like this forever.  _

But he knew he couldn’t. He knew that in a few seconds it would stop, and the bed would come back. But right now, he didn’t want to worry about that.

There was nothing to worry about. 

This was fine. 

Totally casual. 

He wasn’t relapsing. He'd done  this years  ago, and then stopped completely on his own. In a few months he’d stop needing this. This was only a temporary solution, a small selfish moment of coping that would disappear into whatever place in his mind it came from. He'd gone through this before. There was no indication that this time wouldn’t be like the last. 

No one had to know. 

It was fine. He was fine. Totally cool. If a person coul d  smoke one cigarette at a party once a month, why couldn’t he self-harm a little. Just a tiny bit ,  once in a while . No reason. Nothing to worry about. 

_ Shit  _

_ It was starting to wear off _

The bed stir r ed behind him as Alec moved closer to him. Magnus turned on his side and ignored the way his underwear rubbed against the exposed wound. He could already tell  that little pieces of lint were  getting stuck in there. Cleaning that out tomorrow would be a living hell. 

“what are you doing ?”

“nothing.” Magnus wiggled deeper into Alec’s embrace. “ just had an itch. G o back to sleep love.” 

Alec grumbled something in to his back . Magnus couldn’t hear what it was. It didn’t matter anyways. The pain  changed in to a warm thumping through his leg. It wouldn’t go away for another couple of hours. But he’d probably fall asleep in the next fifteen minutes, so it was fine. 

No one had to know. 

He was fine. 

It would all go away, and he was fine. 

_ No one had to know.  _

**Author's Note:**

> .


End file.
